


Cerebral

by MercuryGray



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Character Study, Chess, Chess Metaphors, Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Short & Sweet, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryGray/pseuds/MercuryGray
Summary: A good flier gets into your head.After the younger men ask, Collins muses on what makes a man a good pilot.
Kudos: 11





	Cerebral

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a prompt on tumblr: one character + one word, Collins and cerebral.
> 
> ce·re·bral - adjective, of or relating to the brain or the intellect; primarily intellectual in nature.

_A good flier gets into your head._

That’s what his teachers tell him, at flight school, trying to articulate the nameless skill that separates one pilot from another, that winnows out the aces from the bailouts and the wreckage. _He sees you, watches you, anticipates you. A dogfight’s like a game of chess. You should always be in your opponent’s head, always two steps ahead of him, knowing where he’ll turn._

Flight Lieutenant Farrier has it, the chess-player’s mind. That’s what’s kept him flying while the others have crashed or died. The movies will have you believe that the ace is loud and brash, confident and full of swagger, but Farrier drinks alone, and never asks for recognition. His kills are added to the board with little fanfare.

And yet it’s him that’s back in England, and not Farrier. No skill there - just pure, dumb luck. One bullet to a gas tank, another to a fuselage. One plane in the water, and one plane…adrift, landing unknown. Dead, maybe? A prisoner? There’s little time to think of things like that. One sortie begins to bleed into another, his days one long parade of missions interspersed with sleep. Now the younger officers look to him for guidance, asking in excited voices what his secret is, the talisman that keeps his plane flying while others fall.

“Chess,” Collins replies, and lets them wonder what he means, returning to his beer alone, watching another kill go on the board.


End file.
